


First Brush

by brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 00:13:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2208345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly/pseuds/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This work is set during episode 3x05, when Ian and the Milkoviches went to rob Ned's house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Brush

**Author's Note:**

> I was a little tired when I wrote this, so I'm not 100% sure if I like it or not. Love to hear what you guys think. Also, I decided that Mickey's cousin's name was Roland. It just popped into my head, and so I went with it.

Mickey Milkovich was in trouble. Not the usual kind of trouble, like run from the cops, run from the guy who wants to kick your ass for some bad drugs your brother sold him, run from a pissed off Terry.

Nope, this trouble had brown eyes, red hair and freckles. And Mickey had been getting in deeper for years. Only, this time, he really was in deep shit.

_He’s not afraid to kiss me._

Ian’s words kept echoing in Mickey’s head, had been resonating there for hours, and were now keeping Mickey up tonight. He had tried telling himself that he was pissed at Ian’s suggestion that Mickey was afraid of anything. With the exception of his father, Mickey didn’t back down from shit. And besides, being afraid of Terry didn’t make him a pussy; it only meant that he had a sense of self-fucking-preservation.

So, yeah. The idea that Mickey was afraid of anything rankled. It was not the idea that some nasty old perv could brush his lips against Ian’s like it was nothing. The thought that some guy who should be in a fucking nursing home already could reach out and touch Ian without thinking twice, while Mickey had to be _so fucking careful_ about even the slightest contact, did not make his teeth clench.

Okay, that was bullshit, but whatever.

Mickey was a liar, and he did not discriminate about who he lied to. The person most often on the receiving end of the denials, half-truths, and fabrications was himself. But for some fucked up reason, Mickey had been struck by the urge to be honest, if only inside his own head.

What really bothered Mickey, like on a visceral level, was the fact that Ian was right. He was afraid to kiss the other boy. He was afraid that if he did it once, he might wanna do it again. Jesus, his lips hadn’t been anywhere near the redhead’s, but he still found himself thinking about it. And not even during the times when they were fucking. That would’ve been understandable, right? Like heat of the moment shit. But no.

Sometimes it’d be when Ian gave him that knowing smile, like the redhead could see right through his bullshit. Or watching him working at the register, how Gallagher’d sometimes furrow his brow in concentration. Hell, a couple times, Mickey’d thought about doing it just to stun Ian into silence, something that Mickey was pretty sure would take a miracle to achieve.

The kissing thing had always gone unspoken between them after that first time. Sure, Gallagher snuck in some lip action on the sly sometimes, brushing his lips against Mickey’s collarbone, or his hip, or the nape of his neck when they were fucking. But since Ian’s lips never came anywhere near his, Mickey had let it go. He kept on pretending that the idea of Ian’s mouth so close to his freaked him out, that the prospect was too intimate, too gay for it to be allowed.

But now fucking Gallagher had gone and brought it up, and Mickey could think of nothing else. For a second, Mickey let himself imagine what kissing Ian would be like. He’d never do it, Mickey assured himself. He was already in too deep with Gallagher; he wasn’t gonna add yet another nail to that particular coffin.

So, for now, he let his imagination go. He could see Ian’s brown eyes widening in surprise as Mickey leaned in towards him. He could hear the catch of the other boy’s breath. Mickey would be close enough to smell Ian, picking up traces of detergent, sweat, and smoke. The redhead would taste like beer and cigarettes. Then they’d separate, and Ian would smile. It wouldn’t be that knowing, shit-eating grin. His smile would be bright and sweet, and his face would light up.

Jesus Christ, this was so fucking gay.

But that was okay, Mickey thought to himself. He was in the privacy of his own room, alone with his thoughts.

It’s not like he’d ever actually do it.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, Ian, Mickey, Iggy and Roland were travelling to the North Side in a white van that Iggy had gotten from fuck only knew where. Apparently, gramps’ wife had kicked his wrinkly old ass to the curb, and was holding on to all his shit.

So, naturally, the geezer had immediately turned to the poor South Side kid he was molesting, and asked Ian to rob his home.

_Fucking asshole._

But, whatever. Old dude was rich, and he said they could take whatever they wanted Although it pissed Mickey off to have anything to do with the old perv, food, heat, water, and electricity didn’t come for free.

So here they were.

When they finally reached the place, it was what Mickey had expected: fancy, expensive, too fucking big for two goddamn people. He kinda wanted to set the place on fire.

Mickey, Iggy, and Roland got out of the car. They’d done this a couple times, knew how to operate, so they had Ian act as look out and get away driver. Mickey reached out to grab the guns he’d had stashed when Ian hissed at him that they didn’t need the things. Apparently, there was only one drunk little old lady inside. She shouldn’t give them any problems.

Mickey bit his lip, then took the guns from Roland and Iggy without argument. Normally, they’d never do this shit without weapons, too much could go wrong. But Gallagher was right. How much trouble could one wasted grandma cause them?

Roland and Iggy were heading up to the house, and Mickey turned on his heel to follow them when something made him hesitate. They were gonna do this, get the shit the old creeper wanted, plus some extras too. The fucker was gonna thank Gallagher for doing this for him, would probably touch him, maybe even lean in to kiss the redhead.

Mickey’s jaw clenched, and before he could think it all the way through, he had turned back towards the van.

Gallagher was sitting in the driver’s seat, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He must have sensed Mickey heading back, because the other boy turned to face him as he re-entered the vehicle. Before Ian could say anything, Mickey was there, in Ian’s space, pressing their lips together.

It wasn’t a huge thing; the contact barely lasted a few seconds. And even though Mickey and Ian had fucked plenty of times before, even though their lives were too fucked up for it to be possible, there was something... innocent about the contact. It was almost... hopeful. Mickey felt something inside him shift. His heart was pounding, his breath had caught, and it was just... too fucking much to deal with right now.

He didn’t wait to see Gallagher’s response. Mickey swiftly pulled back, ducked out of the van, and ran towards the house. He told himself to keep going, not to hesitate, but he couldn’t help himself. He flicked a glance over his shoulder, meeting Ian’s surprised gaze.

On reflex, he flipped the other boy off.

And couldn’t stop the small, hopeful smile that touched his still tingling lips.


End file.
